5. Cancer Diaries - Solution Architect

If you remember, the last thing I wanted to happen was have chemo. Chemo is the thing I am most scared about in this whole process. It's toxic and utterly consuming. 

As a side point, I had been managing to sleep reasonably well. I had been focussing on the present and quietly talking to myself by saying, "there is no chemo here, you are in bed and all is ok, there is nothing to fear here, so sleep". Basic techniques to keep me centred throughout the day too, being as mindful as I could at work, concentrate on the task and then get absorbed in a TV programme or be social in the evening. 

But it was now time to meet my Oncologist and this was the conversation I most dreaded. This conversation would bring home the dark reality of the situation. Time to put on the big girl pants and face the music. 

It's not often you feel sorry for someone's job but no one ever wants to meet the Oncologist, or wants to sit in their office, ever. Their news rarely brings joy. It's a hard job. 

I also struggle with the word Oncologist. I'd rather call him a Mixologist. In drinking terms a mixologist creates cocktails by mixing different drinks together. An Oncologist is similar but his choice of substances to mix are poison. 

I am by heart a planner. I plan everything, even my spontaneity is planned too. Can't help it, that's just me. My friends know this, so it was by no surprise to them that I turned up to the Oncologist meeting with a spreadsheet of my life plotted out for the rest of the year. 2022 was an important year for me. There are lots of special birthdays this year, including my own and I had planned some great holidays too, after being cooped up from the pandemic. Honestly, cancer turned up at a most inconvenient moment for me. 

I mention my spreadsheet and how I'd really like to keep some of the important dates in my year and is there anyway of working the chemo around this. My Oncologist replied to say that I should tear up my spreadsheet and forget about it. 

At this point I starting crying. Yes, I cried over a spreadsheet but it was a symbol of me trying to keep some control over the crazy situation and have something to look forward to. Realising that he was losing his audience, the Oncologist quickly changed tack and suggested that maybe we could work with this after all. Phew.

The treatment prescribed would start with 4 sessions of 2 drugs, administered once every 2 weeks. This would be followed by 12 sessions of a third drug given on a weekly basis. 16 sessions in all. 

We agreed on a Wednesday as my Chemo day. The idea is that I have to have a blood test on the Tuesday to check my levels and if all is well then I can have the Chemo the next day. The Thursday I may feel the affects of the treatment but it is hoped that by the weekend I could feel human again. If that is the case then there is a chance that any weekend plans I have already in place could possibly stay on track. I just need to look after me in the meantime and be careful of my energy levels.

If everything goes to plan and I am well enough to hit my allotted Chemo days then I could be free of this phase of shitstorm the day before my 50th birthday. What a way to celebrate. Also, if things go to plan then I may still be able to get to Dreamforce (a conference for those who aren't in the world of Salesforce) and be able to take the holiday of a yacht charter around Greece. These are my goals and what I am aiming for. 

Let's spend a moment talking about hair. I will experience hair loss throughout this process. I am going to try a cold cap which helps to chill the head to prevent the Chemo chemicals from killing the hair follicles but they will become brittle. Losing my hair is a daunting prospect as it is a very visual acknowledgement of being sick and I am already a rubbish patient.  They advise to wash your hair twice a week to reduce the amount of interaction to disrupt the hair and cause more loss. If I lose my hair through this process then it will be temporary, coming back grey and possibly curly. Oh the joy.

I decided to cut my hair. I've gone for a longer version of a pixie cut. I think I'll call it the 'Minx'. I was a bit emotional in the hair dressers as it is a visual statement of what I am about to go through. I've kept a few locks of my hair, in case it falls out. They are there to remind me of the natural colour it is, a mix of blonde tones and a peppering of grey highlights. People pay good money for those tones. It might be me in the future. 

My short hair cut also reminds me of my younger self when my parents decided to cut my hair when I was three. My response to them at the time; "it's like a boy haircut". So. I'm taking my 'like a boy haircut' and am about to face this shitstorm which begins on Wednesday. 

I plan to keep writing. I already have a series of blogs about my cancer journey that I want to write, so dear reader, and in my best Lady Whistledown voice, I hope that you will be by my side as we go forth on this adventure. Are you with me?